


A Tourist's Guide To Brobdingnag

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [18]
Category: Battle of the Planets
Genre: Gen, Gun Violence, Things-fall-down-go-"Boom!", Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess finds herself in a difficult situation without her team - or her G-Force gear - to back her up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. GULLIVER

**Author's Note:**

> Federation politics are fascinating. Canon drops all sorts of shadowy hints but remains deliciously vague about politics in the BotP Universe. This leaves things wide open for fanfic writers. Equally fascinating are questions of point of view. In this story, I challenged myself to write this exclusively from the point of view of female characters only.
> 
> "Brobdingnag" was a fictitious country described by the eighteenth century satirist Jonathon Swift in his book, Gulliver's Travels. It was a land where the occupants were giants, and the protagonist Gulliver, who had been as a giant in Lilliput, land of the little people, suddenly found that the shoe, so to speak, was on the other foot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess faces one of her greatest fears.

  
" _A woman is like a tea bag -- you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water_."  
\- Eleanor Roosevelt (1884 - 1962)  
  
  
  
  
Princess followed her commanding officer on to the stage. Before her lay something that made her heart pound harder than an approaching enemy with a gun: an audience. She drew her white winged cape more closely about herself as though it could deflect the curious eyes of the Space Academy graduating class.  
  
The Academy's commander shook Mark's hand, then Princess' and turned the podium over to her guests.  
  
Mark rested both hands on the lectern and let his gaze sweep over the assembled graduates. "Congratulations," he told them. "Three years ago, you ceased to be civilians and became what's possibly the lowest form of life in the Interplanetary Security Organisation's food chain: officer cadets." This elicited the expected ripple of laughter. "Today, you'll walk out of here the second lowest form of life in the Interplanetary Security Organisation's food chain: graduate officers." The laughter was less enthusiastic this time. "If you ask any officer, including myself, whether they've been exactly where you are right now, the answer will be a resounding, 'Yes,' because to get somewhere, you have to start somewhere, and the second lowest form of life on the ISO food chain also represents our greatest potential."  
  
Princess watched the graduates relax as Mark's address began to take a familiar path. About a third of them were women, she noted, most of them around her own age of twenty-one with a few mature-age candidates scattered here and there. Their appearance took in the full range from no makeup and crew cuts through to elaborately coiffed hair and expertly painted faces. Some of them would be 'one of the boys,' while others would maintain their femininity to the bitter end. The cadets were resplendent in their white ISO dress uniforms, their individual service allegiance distinguishable by the colour of their epaulettes and uniform trim: khaki for the Army, white for the Navy, royal blue for the Air Force, burgundy for the Space Patrol and midnight blue for Galaxy Security.  
  
"Your role," Mark was continuing, "no matter how small it may seem to you, makes up a vital part of ISO operations. If it didn't, you wouldn't be here."  
  
_I wish I could believe that, some days_ , Princess mused. She tried to focus on the upbeat message of the speech, tried to think about the new graduates starting valuable careers, but the bitter little inner voice refused to be silenced. _When was the last time he told me_ I _was a vital part of anything?_ With an effort of will, she kept her features composed, her breathing steady, and even managed a vaguely supportive smile.  
  
After Mark's congratulatory speech, there were the presentations as each graduate received a diploma and a commission. Princess smiled, handed over the beautifully worked scrolls and shook hands, acutely aware of the way the graduates looked at her. Curiosity, admiration, envy and a thousand variations on a theme blended into a blur of intense scrutiny, focussed squarely on her. She wanted to cry out, to turn and run, to find somewhere to hide away from all the gazes that pinned her like a hunted animal in a spotlight.  
  
When it was over and the hats had been tossed in the air, Princess tried to seek refuge next to Mark, but Mark was engaged in conversation with Field Marshall Yusef Al-Farouk, the Army's Chief of Staff. For a few moments, nobody looked at the people on the stage as the graduates shuffled around, hugging friends, shaking hands and trying to retrieve the right hats.  
  
The respite from attention didn't last long. Graduates and instructors were soon crowding around, hemming her in within a suffocating press of warm bodies and eager smiles, wanting to talk to her, wanting to be able to say they'd shaken her hand. She fought down the urge to scream at them to leave her alone. Instead, she smiled and stammered polite congratulations.  
  
Afterward, she remembered one exchange in particular with a young woman who approached her with an odd mix of nervousness and admiration. "Um... " the new Galaxy Security Junior Lieutenant had said, "ma'am, there's one thing I've always wanted to ask you." The girl had looked uncomfortable, her fingers flexing around the dark blue beret she clutched in both hands. "About the skirt? I mean... we regulars have uniform options. I don't know if I... Don't you ever feel... you know... vulnerable?"  
  
Princess had managed a smile. "I guess I do, but a lot of enemy soldiers have learned the hard way that looks can be deceiving."  
  
  
  
In the limousine on the way back to Headquarters, Princess stared out of the window without speaking.  
  
"Something on your mind?" Mark asked.  
  
"Yes," Princess said, and lapsed back into silence.  
  
"Um..." Mark tried again after a moment. "Penny for your thoughts?"  
  
Princess twisted in her seat so she could look him full in the face. "Do you think I'm vulnerable?"  
  
"What?" Mark frowned. "In what way?"  
  
"In the field. With the cute little pink mini dress and the short cape. Do you think I'm vulnerable?"  
  
"Why would you be any more vulnerable than anyone else? Okay, so maybe your uniform looks different, but I thought you said you liked it. Your cape doesn't get caught up on stuff like mine does."  
  
"So you don't feel in the least bit protective of me when we're out there?"  
  
"Uh... ?"  
  
Princess fancied she could see the wheels turning as Mark's mind raced to try and find the right answer. "Well?" she prompted, aware that there wasn't a right answer but determined to get something out of him.  
  
"Er... ?"  
  
"Mark?"  
  
"Well... as professionals, we have to be able to compartmentalise certain things --"  
  
"Mark!"  
  
"Of course I feel protective! I know I'm not supposed to, but I do!"  
  
Princess nodded. "Thanks for being honest."  
  
On the one hand, he cared. That was good.  
  
On the other hand, he felt she needed looking out for. That wasn't so good.  
  
So now, all she had to decide was whether or not to get mad.  
  
When Mark's bracelet chirped, followed a second later by her own, Princess realised she'd have to put off that decision for a little while at least.  
  



	2. ASSAULT BY FLORISTRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say it with flowers.

The business with the First Lady's freesias had its origins in the the Van Allen belt incident over a year earlier. Lieutenant Colonel Jones hadn't been on duty in the Council Chamber that day. She'd delegated her 2IC to accompany Security Chief Anderson to the Council. Jones' attendance had been required at a senior officers' briefing to examine the contingency evacuation, data and infrastructure destruction plans which were slated for execution in the likely event that the Council chose to surrender to Spectra.  
  
She'd seen the media and security footage afterward, however, and had been impressed. It was a point of annoyance for Jones that she always seemed to miss Anderson's finest moments of public defiance and dramatic flair.  
  
Jones was aware that the First Lady had not been impressed. Laureli Kane had been outraged at the idea that a mere ISO Chief of Staff might disrupt the proceedings of the Federation Council and pull a stunt like sealing off the chamber and initiating a media blackout. Anderson had made enemies, but he seemed to have an instinct for the thickness of the political ice on which he skated.  
  
Alberta Jones had what was considered a plum assignment: as personal security coordinator and staff liaison officer for David Anderson she was in charge of a squad of highly trained protection agents, got to travel, was largely autonomous in her day to day work and occasionally rubbed shoulders with G-Force. The money was fair and she enjoyed working with her protection assignment when he wasn't trying to get himself shot, blown up or vaporised.  
  
The down side was that Jones' protection assignment was a stubborn man, and Zoltar wanted him dead. This entailed more shooting, blowing up and vaporising than was generally experienced by the other ISO Chiefs of Staff. Given that Jones' job was to stand between Anderson and the bullets, bombs and/or ray weapons, she didn't get quite the same level of job satisfaction out of the shooting, blowing up and vaporising parts as she did from the rest of her duties.  
  
As it was, she was unprepared for assault by floristry.  
  
The Easter Weekend had come and gone without an enemy attack. Jones was taking delivery of the Chief's mail and verifying the security scan report when she heard a courier arrive. She thought nothing of it. Couriers came and went from the Executive offices all the time, and the security staff were no longer on alert for exploding, poisoned, or exploding _and_ poisoned chocolate eggs.  
  
All the same, Jones took careful note as a Galaxy Security mail room courier stepped into the elevator, having made a delivery, then she crossed the lift lobby.  
  
Chief Anderson's administrative officer, Gunnery Sergeant McAllister was standing in the doorway, staring into his office.  
  
"Gunny?" Jones ventured.  
  
"Morning, Colonel," McAllister said. "The Chief's just briefing G-Force. You can go in when he's done."  
  
Jones, an active member of the Center City Horticultural Society, stopped at McAllister's elbow and peered into the reception area. She sniffed at the air, detecting a familiar fragrance that carried all the way from the desk to the doorway. "What's that?" she wondered aloud. On the counter was an extremely large floral arrangement made up of flowers that were white or close to it. It was a layered mass of arum lillies, baby's breath, white iris and... "Freesias," Jones observed.  
  
The freesias lurked among the vegetation, their rich, cream coloured trumpets and buttery throats giving off an intensely sweet, heavy scent. In small numbers, out in the open air, freesias could be considered fragrant. Concentrated in numbers into an enclosed space, their sweet, heavy perfume was overpowering.  
  
"You sure it's not some kind of bio-weapon, ma'am?" McAllister said dubiously. The tall, muscular Marine had backed away from the main desk in the face of sheer concentration of fragrance.  
  
"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," Jones said, nose wrinkling against the smell. "Let's see if there's a card in this latter day Triffid." She advanced and plucked the card out of the floral concentration. The envelope, of heavy stock, made with linen, was embossed with the seal of the Presidential Household.  
  
It wasn't quite eleven o'clock. Jones felt that her day could really only improve from here on in.  
  
"Colonel?" McAllister prompted. "What does it say?"  
  
"It's addressed to Miss Princess Anderson," Jones relayed.  
  
"Who did she kill, ma'am?" McAllister quipped.  
  
"Rather a lot of people, Gunny, when you think about it," Jones muttered.  
  
  
  
Chief Anderson's office door opened and Tiny Harper appeared in the doorway. "How about we grab some lunch on the way?" he was saying to the rest of the G-Force team, who were close behind him. "Ugh." He grimaced at Jones. "New perfume?"  
  
"It's definitely not you, Al," Jason said before Jones could leap to her own defence.  
  
David Anderson made his way past the young men, with Princess and Keyop trailing behind him, and considered the problem. "This looks suspiciously like one of the First Lady's famous flower arrangements," Anderson surmised.  
  
"The same, sir," Jones affirmed, brandishing the envelope.  
  
The Chief crossed the room to retrieve the card from his security coordinator, then turned to Princess. "It's for you," he observed.  
  
Her luminous green eyes reflecting her bemusement, Princess took the envelope, accepted the loan of a letter opener from McAllister, and sliced open the top.  
  
"It's an invitation," she said, reading what appeared to be hand-calligraphed script. "To an afternoon tea party this Thursday at the Presidential Palace. What did I do to deserve this?" she asked, casting her eyes heavenward.  
  
"Whatever it was," Tiny said, grinning, "I'm glad I didn't do it!"  
  
"I wonder what Laureli is up to?" Anderson mused aloud. "There's only one way to find out." He smiled humourlessly at the recipient of the invitation. "I'll want a full report."  
  
Princess' mouth fell open. "You don't want me to go to that thing!" she protested. "Besides, you just got through telling us we're on alert!"  
  
" _Stand by_ alert," Anderson corrected her. "Zark detected an unidentified spacecraft making an inbound jump, but that's all the information we have. Unless Spectra launches an attack, you're going," he said. "You can't decline a personal invitation from the First Lady. It's one of the Rules of Political Survival."  
  
"Mine or yours?" Princess retorted.  
  
"Princess," Anderson explained calmly, "if there's one thing I've learned through dealing with the Kanes, it's that Laureli doesn't do anything without a reason."  
  
"How is my going to a tea party with a bunch of old ladies going to achieve anything?" Princess demanded.  
  
Anderson stepped away from the flower arrangement, apparently having reached the limit of his freesia tolerance. "Can we do something about this?" he asked the room in general.  
  
Once Jones showed him what a freesia was, Keyop pulled all the offending blooms out of the flower arrangement and took them to Waste Disposal to have them dealt with. While he was doing this, the rest of G-Force engaged in speculation as to why Princess would have been invited to the Presidential Palace and Jones took herself into a corner. She activated her palm unit, keyed a code and was connected through to Major Thomas O'Malley, a member of the Presidential Security Detail. O'Malley had been Jones' second in command until some eighteen months previously, when he'd got his promotion and a much sought-after assignment with the PSD. He was Jones' single best source for gossip from the Palace.  
  
_"Al!"_ he greeted his former CO, having checked the caller ID before answering. _"To what do I owe the pleasure?"_  
  
"What do you know about this afternoon tea thing that Mrs Kane's giving on Thursday?" Jones asked without preamble.  
  
_"Oh, the Mad Hatter's Tea Party!"_ O'Malley said. Jones listened to the rattling of fingers on a keyboard. " _I see there's a Miss Princess Anderson on the guest list. Mrs Kane throws these shindigs about every other month. An invitation is a sign you've Arrived, y'know."_  
  
"Do go on," Jones said, her tone dry.  
  
_"It's a sort of Women Behind the Men club,"_ O'Malley explained. _"Sometimes, it's downright scary, what you overhear when you're on guard duty."_  
  
"I can imagine," Jones murmured. It occurred to Jones to wonder if perhaps Laureli Kane's lack of influence over Chief Anderson might have been one of her reasons for disliking him. The motivation for the invitation was becoming clear. "Thanks for the gen, Tom."  
  
_"Any time, Al."_  
  
"Well?" Anderson prompted, having noticed Jones' call.  
  
Jones relayed what O'Malley had told her.  
  
Anderson's brow furrowed in a frown. "If any of Laureli's ladies have been talking out of turn, we could have a potential security leak," he said. "Princess, you're going. Laureli's little parties may well be harmless, but I need the risk assessed."  
  
"You're kidding!" Princess exclaimed, appalled.  
  
"No," Anderson said. "I'm not." The Chief of Galaxy Security regarded the young woman with a steady look.  
  
"Do I have to go in this outfit?" Princess asked, gesturing at her usual t-shirt and jeans.  
  
"No," Anderson decided. "I'll spring for a new dress, but you'll take your G-Force clothing along, just in case."  
  
"Oh... okay," Princess acquiesced. She may have been a formidable part of the Federation's top fighting force, but G-Force or not, how many pretty twenty-one-year-olds could resist the lure of hitting the boutiques with someone else's credit card?  
  
Gunny McAllister called Lavinia Davies, Mrs Kane's personal secretary, and advised that Miss Anderson had accepted the First Lady's invitation with thanks.  
  
Jones had almost made good her escape when she heard Anderson say, "Al, sign out one of the pool cars and take Princess shopping. Use your discretion, and bring back the receipts."  
  
Jones resisted the urge to sigh. _Now_ the day couldn't get any worse.


	3. HERE BE DRAGONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never could get the hang of Thursdays.

Thursday dawned clear, fine and mild, with a gentle breeze drifting in off the Bay. It was a perfect day for a tea party. Security Chief Anderson's adopted daughter didn't rate the full armoured limousine treatment but she was assigned a black BMW sedan with Anderson's regular driver, Corporal Mendelawitz. Princess waited for the car to arrive at the Snack J, nursing a small backpack which contained her civilian G-Force uniform.  
  
"Honey, you look amazing," Jill, the restaurant manager said.  
  
"Considering what this outfit cost the Chief," Princess said with a smile, "I ought to."  
  
"What did you do, spring him with somebody's wife?" Jill teased.  
  
"As if," Princess said, without rancour.  
  
"Green really is your colour," Jill remarked.  
  
"That's what Al said," Princess recounted. She'd tried on literally dozens of dresses, suits and coordinates, many of which she had no intention of buying -- and several of which she had been forbidden to consider by the ultra-conservative Colonel Jones -- before settling on the green silk ensemble, but the journey, she reasoned, was as important as the destination. She doubted her Buddhist meditation master had shopping in mind when he had imparted this kernel of wisdom, but for Princess, it was as good an excuse as any.  
  
"Do you think I should've put my hair up?" Princess wondered aloud, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.  
  
"For the President, maybe," Jill said with a grin, "but the First Lady, nah."  
  
Princess laughed and shook her head. "That settles it, then," she decided. She turned as the restaurant door opened with a tiny tinkle of bells. Corporal Mendelawitz had entered and was hovering near the doorway.  
  
"Miss Anderson. The car's ready outside," Mendelawitz said.  
  
"Thanks, Pete," Princess said with a smile. "See you, Jill." She followed Mendelawitz out to the car and got in. A moment later, Mendelawitz was in the driver's seat and turning the engine over.  
  
Princess twisted the straps of the backpack which rested in her lap, and engaged in some heavy duty worrying. Laureli Kane didn't hold an elected office, but she was well known for being a high level player. Not content with simply hosting charity functions and setting the bar as a fashion icon, the current First Lady kept herself busy ensuring that the only political surprises sprung within the Kane Administration would only be the ones she was aware of, and preferably the ones she orchestrated herself.  
  
Princess Anderson was many things: scholar, fighter, engineer and demolitions expert, but she was no politician, and she was intelligent enough to know it.  
  
  
  
When Princess arrived at the ISO Tower, the signal from her bracelet ensured that the security system cleared her to use an express elevator which took her straight up on an ear-popping ride to the one-hundredth floor where the Executive Suite was housed.  
  
When the elevator door opened, Princess exited and returned the nod of acknowledgement offered by the duty security officer. She made her way to Chief Anderson's office.  
  
The man in question was leaning against Gunny McAllister's desk in the reception area, listening to the gunnery sergeant tell a joke about a piece of string trying to buy beer. McAllister got to the punch line which elicited a very small, "Ha," from his audience. Anderson straightened up and motioned for Princess to precede him in to his office.  
  
"I'll hold your calls, sir," McAllister said.  
  
Princess settled herself into one of the visitors' chairs in front of Anderson's desk and put the backpack down on the floor beside her while Anderson took his customary place behind the desk. She looked up to see her mentor regarding her over steepled fingers. It was a mannerism many people found disconcerting, as it gave the recipient of the look the impression they were being lined up through a set of crosshairs. Princess suspected that Anderson actively cultivated his disconcerting little quirks. As far as the Anderson Stare was concerned, Jason held the record: G-2 had actually stared Anderson down a couple of times. But that was Jason. Jason could outstare a snake.  
  
"As you know," Anderson said, straightening and letting his hands fall in to a more relaxed position on the desk top, "Laureli Kane likes to take a pro-active role in politics. These little tea parties of hers seems to have slipped under the radar, and I'd like you," he nodded toward Princess, "to keep your eyes and ears open for any potential security issues."  
  
"You're thinking pillow talk, Chief?" Princess inferred.  
  
"It's a possibility," Anderson said.  
  
"So why does she want me there?" Princess asked. "Does she think you're in the habit of spilling security secrets to me at the G-Sec Fathers' Day Picnic?"  
  
"I'd say she probably wants to see if she can use you," Anderson said.  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"I believe Laureli uses this particular group of women to gather information and expand her political influence," Anderson said. "If Laureli Kane can convince the significant others of high ranking public officials and diplomats to support her personal political agenda and pass her information on the latest issues, it gives her a certain amount of power. It could also make her a security risk. Take today's guest list, for example." Anderson pushed a piece of paper across the desk top and Princess leaned forward to read it.  
  
"Every woman on this list is somehow connected to a powerful man," Princess observed. "But what's Mrs Winters doing here? Professor Winters isn't a Chief of Staff, he's... Oh. He's on your executive team."  
  
"And I'll be having a quiet word with Professor Winters, I assure you," Anderson said. "I assume Evadne was simply the most suitable target when it came to G-Sec. I'm not married, Liz Galbraith is too perceptive to allow herself to be manipulated, Kate Halloran's too busy, Dee Kelly would see through Laureli in a flash, Jack Lewindowsky changes women like I change shoes and Mimi Cheng couldn't think her way out of a paper bag in the rain."  
  
"And then I came along," Princess said.  
  
"Something's brought you to Laureli's attention," Anderson said.  
  
"You don't think she knows that I'm with G-Force?"  
  
"She'd better not," Anderson said. "If you get the impression that she does, we'll have to launch a full investigation to find out how she came to possess that kind of information. You can record voice data using your bracelet if need be and transmit it directly to Zark."  
  
"Right," Princess said. "Wish me luck, Chief."  
  
"Hopefully," Anderson said, "you won't need any."  
  
  
  
Many of the old local customs from the 21st Century had been preserved in the office of the President of the Inter-Galactic Federation of Peaceful Planets. The old United States which once existed on the North American continent was long gone, but the culture, the customs and much of the pomp and ceremony surrounding political leaders remained largely intact. The old White House in Washington DC still stood, but as a museum rather than a centre of planetary power. Together with its olden-day counterparts such as Moscow, London, Beijing and Tel-Aviv, it had been supplanted by a vast interplanetary administrative network whose planetary hub was Capitol City, which started out as a satellite of Seattle and ended up subsuming it, while the Federation's locus of political power was Center City on San Francisco Bay.  
  
The black BMW crossed the city without running into any traffic snarls since the afternoon traffic peak was still a couple of hours away. The Presidential Palace hove into view and the Beemer cruised along the tree lined avenue toward the main entrance. The presidential residence and offices were combined in a continuation of the old customs, but the building was natural sandstone and marble, devoid of white render. Like all presidential palaces, however, it was a distinctive sprawling and pillared edifice, topped with arches, flagpoles and sweeping balconies. It was a soulless place, the only permanent thing about it being its sense of transience. Nobody who lived there would ever own it or retire in it, although a few had died in it. The most anyone could hope for was sixteen years: four full terms of four years, and very few Presidents managed to hold on to power for four full terms. A child could conceivably grow up in the vast echoing halls of the Presidential Palace, and possibly even look back on the place as home, a place of happy, privileged memories and more water closets than any sane person could possibly use.  
  
"Do people ever get lost in there?" Princess wondered aloud.  
  
"You hear stories, ma'am," Corporal Mendelawitz joked.  
  
The BMW passed through the check point at the main gate and disgorged its passengers at the entrance, an impressive, sweeping portico that led to an imposing set of ornate and bomb proof double doors which stood open, guarded by a pair of sentries. Princess made a point of not being overawed by it all. From her point of view, mere architecture could be razed by a few well placed charges. Real power lay in human beings, or other sentient species, as the case may have been. It was, after all, a big galaxy.  
  
  
  
Princess was met in the gilded marble foyer by Lavinia Davies. "Please come with me," the executive assistant said. She showed her visitor to a sunny little sitting room which had been decorated in shades of lavender and lilac, and asked her to wait.  
  
_This doesn't look like a tea party_ , Princess mused. Her green eyes glinted and she stood with one hand on her hip, taking in her surroundings with the same kind of intensity she used when assessing an enemy base. She didn't like to admit it, but she felt out of her element, here. In this place, the battles weren't physical, and the knives and the bullets were made of words and alliances, not steel and lead.  
  
The door opened, and the First Lady entered. Laureli Kane was a good half head shorter than both Princess, but she carried herself in such a way that her lack of stature didn't seem to matter. Her dark blonde hair was swept up in a perfect coiffure that didn't have a strand out of place, and her grey eyes flickered over the younger woman with the perceptiveness of a seasoned political player. She wore a pale pink silk suit set off with a string of pearls. To Princess, she looked cool, calm, collected... and dangerous. Laureli Kane was one of the most powerful women in the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets, and they both knew it.  
  
"Good morning, Princess," the First Lady said with a smile. "So nice to see you again. I don't believe I've seen you in person since you were still in school. You've certainly grown up."  
  
"It's been a while, ma'am," Princess agreed. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised at the invitation."  
  
"Won't you sit down?" Mrs Kane suggested, gesturing toward a chair. Princess complied, hands in her lap, and the First Lady did likewise, resting her hands on the arms of her chair. "My husband," Laureli Kane said, "is a good man. He's also a good President." Princess made no comment. "Alex can remain President for another two terms before he's required under the constitution to step down," Laureli continued. "The war could end within a year."  
  
So that was it.  
  
"You're afraid Chief Anderson's going mount a challenge for the Presidency?" Princess inferred. "With all due respect, ma'am, that just doesn't make sense. He's told me himself, he has better things to do than to play politics. We're at war with Planet Spectra. That's all he cares about."   
  
"Is that so? For someone who has better things to do than play politics, my dear, he plays a good game. The war won't last forever, you know. It wouldn't take much," Laureli Kane explained. "The right campaign machine, the right lobbyists, the right people to support him, and believe me, the right people will be on the doorstep the minute the war is over."  
  
"You're assuming we win," Princess said.  
  
"We'll win," the First Lady said softly. "We have to win."  
  
"Mrs Kane, we've been at war since 2161," Princess argued. "The balance of power is still in flux. Even if we can defeat Spectra, there's still Urgos, Scorpius, Sigma Minor and Tramulus, all just waiting to pounce. The Chief wouldn't leave Galaxy Security before he was sure the Earth is safe. It could be years!"  
  
There was a moment of quiet. "I'm a forward planner," Laureli said simply. She got up and walked to the window. "Tell David," she said, "that if he challenges Alex, he'll have a fight on his hands. If he waits, he may well have our support -- and our support can be worth a lot. Likewise, our opposition could be quite an obstacle for an ambitious man, even one as formidable as your father."  
  
"Is that it?" Princess asked. "You brought me here to give me a political ultimatum to pass on to Chief Anderson?"  
  
"Of course not," Laureli said smoothly, "I truly believe that where there's often friction among the men, women are far more effective communicators. You're currently an intern with Galaxy Security, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Princess said. "I'm spending time in various departments."  
  
"I'm told," Laureli ventured, "that you have quite a talent for engineering and analysis."  
  
"So they tell me," Princess said. "I majored in engineering and it seems I have a knack for taking stuff apart." She didn't add that this frequently happened very quickly and often resulted in a good deal of shrapnel for all concerned.  
  
"Your father's taken you under his wing. That's admirable. My son Samuel is about your age. He claims to have no talent for politics or administration, which is quite untrue, but he's also an intern at G-Sec. You may have met him. He's working under your Professor Winters."  
  
"I've seen him around, ma'am, but I haven't really made his acquaintance just yet."  
  
"There's no need to look quite so nervous, dear," Laureli said. "I'm not trying to make a match or anything, just trying to find common ground. You see, I'd really like to get to know you better, Princess. I make a habit of cultivating women whose potential might be otherwise overlooked, and I happen to think that you have a lot of potential. Why don't we go outside, and you can meet the others?" Laureli got to her feet and Princess followed suit. "I think you'll find," the First Lady predicted, "that I'm really not that bad once you get to know me."  
  
  
  
Outside in the palace gardens, the sunlight was brilliant, the lawn fragrant in the gentle warmth of late spring. The fresh air was invigorating and helped to dispel Princess' pique. Laureli led Princess across the lawn to a shaded area where the event Tom O'Malley had dubbed The Mad Hatter's Tea Party was taking place.  
  
The women were arranged in chairs around a long oval table spread with white lace, bone china, crystal and silverware. Princess noted the presence of Evadne Winters, wife of Galaxy Security's Science Director Ian Winters; Lakshmi Basranathan, long time companion of Chief of the Army Field Marshall; Massana Irazi, the long-suffering wife to the Rigan Ambassador (the Ambassador was notoriously unfaithful and alarmingly indiscreet); Shiralee Adams, fiancée of the Secretary of Trade; and Danielle MacNamara, Lady Mayoress of Center City. Princess smiled and hoped that she looked relaxed and elegant rather than apprehensive and worried.  
  
Security staff were lurking near the shrubberies and garden beds. Princess recognised Major O'Malley, who acknowledged her with a tiny nod.  
  
"You must meet the girls, Princess," Laureli cooed. "Ladies, this is Princess Anderson. Do you know everyone, dear?"  
  
Six pairs of eyes focussed on Princess, perhaps probing for weaknesses, any and all of them far more at home in this rarefied environment than a young woman who had trained most of her life to be part of the Federation's premier strike force.  
  
Laureli steered her over to where there were two vacant chairs. "You'll sit here, by me," she said, positively beaming with benevolence.  
  
Princess smiled, hoping her nerves didn't show, and did as she was told.  
  
"We were just talking about Spectra's absence from the scene of late," Danielle McNamara said in an attempt to kick start the conversation. "You're interning with your father's office, aren't you? I imagine you'd have some interesting insights, dear?"  
  
Princess suppressed a sigh. They were off to a start about as subtle as a house brick.  
  
"Who knows what Spectra will do next?" Princess said airily, accepting a cup of coffee from her hostess. "There seem to be two consistent things about Zoltar: the first is that he always comes up with nasty surprises."  
  
"And the second?" Lakshmi Basranathan prompted.  
  
Princess smiled demurely. "G-Force keeps whipping his... um... _posterior_ , ma'am," she said.  
  
"I see," Laureli said, and poured herself a cup of tea. "That's certainly a concise precis."  
  
Madame Irazi arched an eyebrow. "It is a pity," she said, "that G-Force's ability to defeat Zoltar could not have been utilised in the Battle of Riga. Our home world was decimated, while the ISO did little more than send care packages."  
  
"Earth sent equipment and reinforcements," Ms Basranathan countered. "Just because the vaunted G-Force wasn't dispatched to your aid doesn't mean you were abandoned. There's more to the Interplanetary Security Organisation than just G-Force!"  
  
"For all the good it did," Madame Irazi said tightly, "there might as well not be."  
  
"The ISO did what it could," Princess said quietly. "Many people from many different planets died defending Riga."  
  
"The relationship between the Federation and Riga has always been close," Shiralee Adams said. "And yet, even with the treaties and the trade that existed, Riga insisted on keeping the Federation at arms' length. You valued your independence, Massana, but at what cost? I can't help but think that if Riga had accepted the Federation's offer to become a full Member Planet instead of clinging to Allied World status, things might have turned out differently."  
  
"And how were we going to afford the taxes you would have levied on us?" Madame Irazi demanded. "Federation help comes at a high price."  
  
"Ladies, please," Laureli soothed, "we can't change the past. It's a shame the men can't sit and talk the way we do. If they did, they'd probably be at the point where the Federation would be negotiating tax concessions."  
  
"In return for what?" Madame Irazi asked cautiously. "Full rights to Riga's natural resources, no doubt."  
  
"Oh, Massana, who knows what they'd work out between them?" Laureli said, planting the seed. "We'd hardly cripple a Member Planet, would we? Look at how G-Force was sent to pull Planet Vega's proverbials out of the fire."  
  
"Anyway," Evadne Winters sighed, "we started out trying to predict what Zoltar would do next."  
  
"Maybe we should try reading the tea leaves," Danielle MacNamara sighed. "It would be about as accurate as anything Galaxy Security could come up with!"  
  
When Princess' wristband chirped, she slapped a hand over it. Coloured light played between her fingers. A chorus of beeps sounded from the palm units of the guards who patrolled some distance away.  
  
Security officers closed in on the group. Tom O'Malley unobtrusively made his way to Princess' side.  
  
From the main building, a good hundred or so yards away, a siren began to wail.  
  
The women stood and Princess began to move away from the rest of the group.  
  
"Let's move to the shelter," Tom suggested, motioning to the rest of his squad to start herding their charges to safety. He placed himself between Princess and the rest of the group so that the civilians might not get a good view of Princess speaking urgently into her wristband. G-3 needed to return to the car, change and rendezvous with the rest of her team. She didn't need Laureli and her gaggle getting in the way.  
  
O'Malley held up his palm unit so that Princess could read the emergency security bulletin that scrolled across the screen.  
  
"We'll have to evacuate," Princess said. "There's a ship headed straight for us."  
  
"Get out of here," Tom urged. "I'll cover for you with Mrs Kane."  
  
"Thanks," Princess said.  
  
"Your best bet is to take a short cut through the rose garden. There are only two check points, and your clearance should get you through both of them." He reached out and touched her arm. "Be careful."  
  
"I'm always careful," Princess started to say, but her sentence was cut short by a resounding _Boom!_ and a roar, at which the world turned upside down. Hot wind blasted them with grit and leaves. There were screams as the force of the hellish storm knocked the women off their feet.  
  
A strange chemical smell, like over-ripe fruit and nail polish remover, filled Princess' nose and mouth, choking her, then she fell into a spinning dark grey fog that turned to black.


	4. ACHILLES' HEEL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chief Anderson puts little stock in the saying, "Don't get mad - get even." Why should you have to choose?

Colonel Jones held the door of the limousine open for Security Chief Anderson, then got in behind him and locked the rear passenger doors. She listened for the sound of the front door closing and felt the big car start to move out of the parking lot.  
  
The alert had come in only a few minutes earlier. Zark's explanation had been brief and to the point: an unidentified ship had appeared 'out of nowhere' (Jones interpreted this as meaning that it had most likely made a short and highly dangerous intra-atmospheric time-warp jump, but Zark stuck strictly to observations until hypotheses could be verified with evidence) attacked the Palace with a soporific gas, then vanished again. Security staff were searching the grounds and taking head counts as they dealt with casualties, but early reports suggested that there were people unaccounted for.  
  
Important people.  
  
Jones risked a glance at the seat opposite her, which was occupied by Security Chief Anderson. The Chief could be difficult to read, sometimes, but this was definitely not one of those times, Jones decided. He was a taut as a drawn bowstring, clutching his palm unit in a white-knuckled fist and stabbing it into the tele-comm slot.  
  
This, Jones reasoned, was probably not a good day to be Zoltar. Anderson glanced up from his perusal of incoming text news on the tele-comm screen, and Jones fought to keep her own face from betraying her shock at what she saw in his eyes.  
  
Anderson was afraid.  
  
This was probably not a good day to be Alberta Jones, the security officer decided. Sharing a confined space with a formidable Chief of Staff who was currently in a state of white hot anger mixed with fear wasn't an ideal situation for anyone.  
  
And it was going to take at least another fifteen minutes before the limousine arrived at the Presidential Palace.  
  
_"There's no response from Princess at all,"_ 7-Zark-7 said. The robot's image was visible on the small screen that had slid down from the limousine's ceiling. _"I'm terribly worried about her,"_ the robot added.  
  
"What's the likelihood that her signal's being jammed?" Anderson asked  
  
_"The probability is high, sir,"_ Zark said. _"I could calculate it for you, but the last time I did that, you told me to stick--"_  
  
"Thank you, Zark," Anderson said, forestalling the remainder of the sentence. "Keep trying all the communication devices for every individual unaccounted for. I want them found."  
  
_"Yes, Chief Anderson."_  
  
Jones remained silent. Working with Anderson was like working with a tiger: you might admire its style, but if you wanted to _keep_ working with it, you could never lose sight of the fact that a lot of that style was built around teeth and claws.  
  
  
  
The Vice President of the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets was on her way back from a media interview when her palm unit beeped. She plugged the handpiece in to the slot provided in the limousine. "Yes, Soulla?" she prompted, triggering the voice activation.  
  
"There's a problem, Mrs D'Castro," her secretary said. "An attack on the Presidential Palace. They want you in the big office right away."  
  
"Oh, lord," D'Castro felt her mouth go dry. "Tell them I'm about ten minutes away." The Vice President closed the channel and sat back in the seat, breathing deeply to compose herself. As Alexander Kane's second in command, D'Castro would be required to keep a cool head.  
  
By the time D'Castro reached the Palace and made her way to the President's office, a busy crowd was gathering. Several members of the presidential staff were milling in the outer office. D'Castro strode past them and pushed through the door of President Kane's office.  
  
"Julia," Kane greeted her. "Have you been briefed?"  
  
"Not yet," D'Castro said. "What happened? I half expected to find the place in ruins."  
  
"If only it were that simple," Kane said. "Laureli's been abducted."  
  
The Vice President's stomach clenched in an icy knot. She took a measured breath. "How?" D'Castro asked. "When? And are you all right? I mean, how are... Is Chief Anderson coming in?"  
  
"It happened about twenty minutes ago. Anderson's on his way."  
  
D'Castro studied her old friend's normally ruddy face, now pale and strained. Security Chief Anderson would take charge of the situation and do his best to resolve things, but his icy ruthlessness would be like a goad to a husband whose wife had been abducted. Both men would work a lot better if there was an intermediary between them. "And you, Alex?" she asked gently.  
  
"Ask me again in an hour or so," Kane said. "Right now, I don't know."  
  
D'Castro walked around to Kane's side of the desk and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm here if you need me. Are you up for telling me what happened?"  
  
President Kane took a deep breath. "It seems an attack ship dropped out of an atmospheric warp hop just off the coast and came in fast over the Palace before the Air Force could scramble. They hit Laureli's tea party, used some kind of knockout gas, grabbed the women and left. We don't have any more information as yet, not even casualty stats."  
  
"If it was just a kidnapping," D'Castro surmised, "we'll hear something soon. Zoltar must want something."  
  
"Zoltar always wants something," Kane growled. The words hung unspoken in the air between them: _and we have a policy of never negotiating._  
  
"Who else was taken?" D'Castro asked.  
  
"Massana Irazi," Kane recounted, "Shiralee Adams, Lakshmi Baskaranathan, Danielle McNamara, Evadne Winters and Princess Anderson."  
  
D'Castro realised she was holding her breath. " _Anderson_? David's ward?"  
  
"Yes," Kane said.  
  
"And he's going to be running the recovery op? Maybe we should have Deputy Chief Galbraith in on this."  
  
"No," Kane said. "David can handle it. He'll be as mad as hell, and when he's angry, he's dangerous. Besides, with Princess on the inside, Lauri and the others might just stand a chance."  
  
D'Castro frowned. "Why? Does the girl have some special training or something?"  
  
"Julia, 'the girl,' is G-3."  
  
D'Castro's mouth formed a silent 'O.' She drew herself up. "And I suppose his other kids are G-- Oh, for heaven's sake." D'Castro put her hands on her hips. "They are, aren't they?"  
  
"You didn't think he'd adopted those orphans out of the kindness of his heart, did you?" Kane said wryly.  
  
"Up until now," D'Castro said, "I'd considered it evidence that he might have one."  
  
"Revise your estimates," Kane said.  
  
  
  
When Anderson arrived a few minutes later, Julia D'Castro was surprised to note the tension in his face. Given her new-found knowledge about G-Force, she had expected to find Anderson as calm and collected as usual. _Maybe he really does care_ , she speculated.  
  
"Sit down, David. What news?" Kane asked.  
  
"Little enough," Anderson said, taking a seat. "Six members of the presidential security detail and five male bodyguards including one from the Rigan Embassy are confirmed recovering from the effects of the soporific gas. The First Lady, Madame Irazi, Ms Baskaranathan, Mrs McNamara, Miss Adams, Mrs Winters, and Princess are all confirmed missing, presumed abducted by Zoltar's forces. So far, we've had no contact despite repeated and continuing attempts."  
  
"Is there much hope of getting them back in once piece?" Kane asked.  
  
"There's always hope, Mr President," Anderson said, "but I can't make any promises. You know we can't negotiate. You're going to have to trust me, but there may be losses."  
  
"It's easy for you to sit there and say that --" Kane began, then the look on Anderson's face stopped him. "My apologies," Kane said, recovering himself. "Of course you're worried about Princess."  
  
Anderson looked away and busied himself getting his palm unit out of his pocket. "I'll need a secure computer console," he said.  
  
"Over here." Kane got up and led Anderson and D'Castro to the chairs arranged around a large coffee table at the other end of the big room. The President gestured to several slots set in to the coffee table. "Any of these should serve your purposes."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Anderson said. He plugged his palm unit in to one of the slots and activated the computer, his mouth set in a grim line.  
  
"You're really rattled by this," D'Castro said. "David, are you sure you shouldn't be taking a step back?" When he made eye contact, she began to understand what Kane had meant about Anderson's anger being dangerous.  
  
"Quite sure," he said, his tone deceptively soft. His eyes, however, spoke of murder.  
  
D'Castro didn't flinch. "As long as we're clear," she said. "How much can Princess achieve up there?"  
  
Anderson glanced at President Kane, who nodded toward his Vice President. Anderson returned the nod and logged in to the computer. "In all honesty, Julia, I don't know. When we send G-Force out in to the field, they're equipped with uniforms that incorporate protection against impact, heat, cold, radiation and chemical attack. They have specialised equipment and weaponry. Right now, Princess is up there without any of those things. All she can rely on is her training, and all I can do is pray that it's going to be enough."  
  
"So, in terms of operational capability, our worst case scenario is that we could lose a member of G-Force," D'Castro surmised.  
  
"I'm afraid so." Anderson opened a channel to Nerve Centre. "Zark, report," he snapped.  
  
D'Castro listened to the robot impart information on sensor readings and location coordinates, all of them apparently useless, since the alien ship had vanished from all the planetary surveillance systems. She stood up, folded her arms, hugging herself, and tried not to think about what the President was going through.  
  
"You all right, Julia?" Kane asked. He was standing by the window, watching Anderson work.  
  
D'Castro spun on her heel. "Me?" She shook her head. "I'm the last person in the galaxy you should be worried about." She walked over to him and took his hand. "I couldn't help wondering how I'd feel if anything were to happen to Pete, and I'm not enjoying the speculation."  
  
"You must worry every time your son's squadron goes out on patrol," Kane reasoned.  
  
"I do," D'Castro said, "but my son's an officer. He's trained and he's equipped with the best the Cosmic Space Patrol can offer and he chooses to serve the Federation. It's different."  
  
"I have faith that Lauri won't give in," Kane said. "She's a strong woman."  
  
"I know, Alex," D'Castro said. "If anyone can make it home, it's Laureli."


	5. THE FIREDRAKE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess wakes up in a strange - but disturbingly familiar - place.

Cold.  
  
Hard surface.  
  
Aching back.  
  
Stomach twisting in protest.  
  
That peculiar fruity acetone taste in the back of the throat.  
  
Princess struggled into a sitting position and fought down a wave of nausea. Her head swam. It seemed to be trying to do freestyle and butterfly at the same time. She took a series of deep breaths and steadied herself before getting to her feet.  
  
Cell. Bars. Six unconscious women lying in untidy heaps on the floor. Spartan benches devoid of anything any softer than what looked like some kind of polymer. The thrum of an engine somewhere, felt rather than heard.  
  
_Spectra_.  
  
The thought, cold and sharp, brought clarity.  
  
Princess took another breath, then began to tap at her communicator. She stared at the multicoloured face for several minutes, but no answering message arrived. She tried again.  
  
Nothing.  
  
She made her way to the bars, her head clearing. Two guards were lounging in the companionway. One of them saw her and drew his colleague's attention to her.  
  
"So, you're awake," the first man said, leering at her. She tottered slightly and hung on to the bars as though for support.  
  
"Where am I?" she slurred. She let her eyelids droop and watched the approaching soldier from underneath her lashes.  
  
"You're our guest, pretty one," the soldier said. "Maybe I should show you some hospitality before the others wake up, eh?"  
  
She lurched away in horror and collapsed onto one of the benches. "Where are you taking us?"  
  
"Wherever Zoltar wants you," the soldier said, and chuckled. "Lucky for you he wants you unharmed. For now. I could be your friend, girl, in case he changes his mind. You could use a friend."  
  
Princess only stared at him, wide eyed with apparent terror. He laughed and walked away.  
  
Princess' eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't like my friends," she muttered under her breath. She straightened, pushed her hair back from her face and considered the cell. It appeared to have been designed to intimidate rather than provide a high level of security. She let her gaze wander over the prone bodies of her fellow prisoners. Zoltar probably classified them as low risk: society wives, skilled in diplomacy, political manoeuvering, flower arranging, power shopping, charity work, grooming and deportment. What were the Spectrans going to do, she wondered, interrogate them to find the name of the best hairdresser in the Federation?  
  
One hand slipped into her pocket and her fingers curled around her yo-yo. She brightened. They hadn't searched her.  
  
"Yes!" Princess hissed under her breath.  
  
A soft chorus of moans told her that the other women were stirring. Laureli Kane got up and began helping the others.  
  
"We've been taken prisoner by Spectra," Princess said. "They haven't searched us," she added.  
  
"Does that help us?" Madame Irazi groaned, massaging her temples.  
  
"It does if anyone's carrying a weapon," Princess said hopefully. She looked over the little group and was met with blank stares. "Okay, no weapons. Anyone got a palm unit?"  
  
There was a sudden scrabbling at pockets and an examination of screens. It came as no surprise that every palm unit's readout indicated 'No Network.' Princess shrugged. "That's probably why they didn't bother to search us," she speculated. "Right, well, that could work in our favour. They think we're just a bunch of defenceless females." Princess smiled grimly. "You know what Napoleon said: _never interrupt your enemy while he's making a mistake_." She straightened and tugged at her skirt, which was rumpled and had grass stains on it. "This had better come out," she said, batting at a dirty streak, "or I'm going to be really, really annoyed."  
  
"You talk as though we're ever going home!" Evadne Winters said sharply, her voice high with fear.  
  
"Of course we're going home," Laureli Kane insisted. "Surely you don't think our husbands are going to let this go unanswered?"  
  
Princess continued with her report: "We're still aboard the ship, whatever it is. From the level of the engine vibrations, I'd say we've touched down somewhere, but I have no idea where we are, only that we've landed, and that we're still on board. I haven't worked out an escape plan, yet."  
  
The other women had moved into a huddle and stared, bewildered and frightened.  
  
"It's all right," Laureli told them. "None of us are hurt and we'll all be going home, you mark my words."  
  
"You do not know this, Lauri," Massana Irazi retorted. "Do you truly think they would not kill us just to make a point?"  
  
Laureli drew herself up regally. "They wouldn't dare," she said imperiously. "We're going to survive this," she told them. "We're going to come through, every last one of us. We're not helpless snivelling victims, we're valuable hostages, and even Zoltar isn't stupid enough to harm us. Can you imagine the outrage back home right now as our men find out what's happened? Can you imagine the public response when they find out that we've been taken? No, we won't be harmed. They'll posture and they'll threaten but they won't kill us."  
  
"They might not kill us," Danielle said, her voice shaking, "but they might make us wish they had."  
  
"They won't," Princess put in. "The Spectrans have a strict code of honour. They'll leer and make suggestions, but they won't abuse us just for the heck of it." Hope dawned in the stricken expressions around her. "These ships," Princess said, "aren't impregnable. Zoltar would like us to think they are, but we've all seen footage of them in flames. The details are classified, but I swear to you, people get in and out of these things all the time."  
  
Princess tried not to let her expression show that she was mentally comparing the present company with the kind of people -- which was to say, G-Force -- who got in and out of Spectran ships all the time.  
  
A group of four soldiers approached the cell. One of them used an electronic key to unlock the door.  
  
"Move," he said brusquely. "Zoltar wants to see you."  
  
Princess' hands flexed once. Evadne Winters whimpered softly in fear.  
  
"We can do this," Princess said.  
  
"Of course we can." Laureli lifted her chin. "Come along, now, ladies," she said. "Let's show this upstart alien just who he's dealing with!"  
  
She was good, Princess decided. The abductees straightened, lifted their heads and squared their shoulders.  
  
  
  
The First Lady's tea party was led through several companionways. Princess tried to keep track of the turns and the route they were taking, offering up a silent thanks for her recent refresher course in the Spectran language. They were on level twenty two, and ascending. One particular sign was repeated time and again: ' _DRAHINO KAGA PNOH_ ' with an arrow. The literal translation was, 'run away conditional extremity dire.' Effectively, it meant 'EMERGENCY EXIT.' The Spectrans certainly seemed to be big on occupational safety.  
  
The last turning took them into a large chamber, which turned out to be a control room, with men in green and brown uniforms seated at work stations. In the centre of the room there was a large purple and red control chair, comfortably padded and fitted with controls all along the arms. The chair itself, however, was not what drew the observer's attention: it was what the chair contained.  
  
Seated in the chair was a monstrosity in outlandish garb that matched the chair's upholstery. It rose, its movements sinuously graceful, its height emphasised by the upstanding ears of the purple mask. Pink glossy lips curved into a smile charged with predatory anticipation. For a carefully calculated moment, Zoltar merely stood, watching his prisoners watch him.  
  
"Zoltar," Laureli Kane said, stealing his thunder. "This is an outrage. I demand that these ladies and I be returned to the Presidential Palace at once."  
  
Zoltar stared at her, seemingly amazed, then he recovered himself, threw back his head and laughed.  
  
"Ah, madame," he said, "I do love a woman with a sense of humour!" He made her a mocking courtier's bow, his cape sweeping and billowing around him. "You are my honoured guests, ladies. You cannot possibly leave before you have enjoyed my hospitality to the fullest!"  
  
He minced around his prisoners, and they instinctively clustered closer together. Princess insinuated herself into the middle of the group and kept her face turned away from him.  
  
"My dears," Zoltar continued blithely, "it is time for us to contact your illustrious partners in crime. I am sure your doting husbands and," he smiled again, an almost reptilian leer, "significant others, as you say on your decadent planet, will be overjoyed to learn that you are safe and well... For now," he added. He folded his arms and his inscrutable green gaze flickered over the women. "Be on your best behaviour, ladies," he exhorted them. He turned to a large video screen. "I will transmit, now!" he snapped.  
  
A low hum began to emanate from the floor and the walls, the vibration permeating the ship. The floor moved and the women clung to one another at the sensation that the ship was ascending. Princess studied the array of CRT screens arranged around the room. Several of them were systems status readouts, others showed video feed of the outside environment. One of them was a schematic display of their prison.  
  
They were indeed aboard a ship, a long, serpentine ship with what appeared to be slender, batlike wings and no discernible limbs. It was draconic in design, but didn't resemble a typical European or Asian dragon. To Princess, it looked more like a snake or an eel with bat wings. The schematic showed that the ship was uncoiling and rising, presumably leaving whatever cover it had been in so that Zoltar could use the tele-comm. Another readout suggested that the ship was submerged in a large body of water. Princess wondered if they were literally all at sea.  
  
_"The Firedrake is in position, Sire!"_ a soldier announced, saluting.  
  
Princess tensed. They'd be ascending to periscope height to transmit a signal. That meant that there would be a short window of opportunity for her own emergency signal to reach G-Force.  
  
The screen flickered, static played across it, and it resolved itself into an image: the Presidential office, Alexander Kane behind his desk, and there at his right was Security Chief Anderson.  
  
"My dear friends!" Zoltar greeted them, grinning like a purple Cheshire cat. Princess saw Anderson's eyes move in a quick head count as he took in the image presented to him. He noticed everything. He always did. "You are very careless, you know," Zoltar continued, "leaving valuable commodities such as these lovely ladies out in the open where they might be snatched away by any passing rogue! Why, I myself was obliged to offer them my protection so that they might remain free from harm!" He smiled.  
  
Princess edged behind Madame Irazi and was tapping the surface of her communicator. Laureli Kane had noticed and kept her attention fixed on Zoltar.  
  
Zoltar turned to the screen. The President was glowering and Anderson was motionless, his expression a mask devoid of emotion: eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed, his jaw tense. From experience, Princess knew that when David Anderson adopted this particular look, he was very, very angry. People sometimes made the fatal mistake of likening this mien to that of a cornered animal - dangerous, but fearful. It wasn't. What was sometimes misinterpreted as the stillness of prey was in fact the stillness of a predator. Anyone on whom that quiet and flinty regard was ever turned would be well advised to run very far, very fast.  
  
"What do you want, Zoltar?" President Kane said simply.  
  
"You know what I want, Mr President," Zoltar purred. "Your world and everything on it!" He flung himself into his command chair in an extravagant gesture. "However," he continued, "I am aware that you are not ready to see reason. Therefore, I will ask for only one thing: the Conway Tapes. One simple set of data tapes in return for the flower of Federation high society." Zoltar allowed himself a feline smile. "You have two hours," he announced.  
  
"We don't need two hours," Anderson said. "I'll give you our answer now: we won't turn over the Conway Tapes."  
  
Zoltar's mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. "Very well. We could have dealt like civilised beings," he said, "but since you wish to be a stubborn fool, I will persuade you further! My Firedrake will attack Center City, I will take the Conway Tapes by force, and with your women aboard as hostages, you will not dare to try and stop me!"  
  
"Watch us," Anderson told him, his voice low and dangerous. "We'll not only stop you, G-Force will bring you down and finish you."  
  
"And kill these lovely ladies in the process?" Zoltar shook his head. "I think not."  
  
"They were as good as dead the moment you captured them," Anderson pointed out icily.  
  
Zoltar took a sharp breath and half rose from his chair. "Even you could not be so heartless."  
  
Anderson directed his gaze at Princess. "I'm sorry, Prinny," he said. "You knew the risks."  
  
Princess ducked her head and looked away, seemingly overcome. Her right hand covered her left wrist to hide the flashing of her communicator and she fought the urge to smile. He'd used that ridiculous nickname, the one she'd given Don Wade a black eye over so many years before. To any member of G-Force, that one word spoke volumes.  
  
Behind her, someone burst into tears.  
  
Anderson cut transmission.  
  
"Fine words," Zoltar sneered. "I do not believe your precious Security Chief! We will attack Center City and we will not be opposed! Take them back to their cell!" he roared. "I will deal with them later!"  
  
  
  
Julia D'Castro tensed, ready to position herself between Anderson and Kane. For a moment, she feared that Kane's temper would erupt under the strain, but the President retained control, the only outward sign of his distress the clenching of his fists.  
  
"There'd better be an explanation, David," Kane rumbled.  
  
"We don't negotiate," Anderson said. "Zoltar knows that. If we'd tried, even as a feint, he would have suspected something. As it is, he'll be expecting us to attempt an extraction."  
  
"We could have tried to buy time!" D'Castro argued. "We could have let him think we were prepared to make some kind of concession, some kind of offer, even if it wasn't the Conway Tapes!"  
  
"Mr President, Madame Vice President," Anderson said, "we know the hostages are alive. They appear to be in good shape. They've got a fighting chance, but as I said before, you have to trust me."  
  
"My wife is up there," Kane said. "You can't play the First Lady like a pawn!"  
  
"I didn't set the rules in this game, sir," Anderson said.  
  
"A game?" D'Castro echoed. "You think this is a _game_? There are lives at stake, here!"  
  
"I know," Anderson said, holding eye contact. D'Castro looked away.  
  
"Sometimes, David, I think you have ice water in your veins instead of blood," D'Castro said.  
  
"It's a requirement of the job," Anderson said with something approaching his usual aplomb. "Bodily fluids aside," he added, "what I _do_ have is one very clear signal giving us a precise location for the source of that transmission, and the data's being transmitted directly to the _Phoenix_ as we speak."  
  
  
  
The same four guards who had taken the women from the cells surrounded the prisoners once more and marched them out of the chamber, rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders by the straps. Princess marvelled at their arrogance, then took further stock and realised why the guards were so relaxed. Evadne Winters was sobbing, being supported by Lakshmi Basranathan, who kept glancing from Princess to Lakshmi and back again. Danielle MacNamara was soundlessly weeping, frightened tears trickling down her face.  
  
Apart from Mrs Winters, the women walked on in numb and horrified silence for a minute or so before Laureli grabbed Princess' arm.  
  
"What was all that about back there?" she hissed.  
  
"Ma'am," Princess said quietly, "we're getting out of here." Laureli released her and Princess kept walking without breaking stride. "String out, some," Princess murmured, and Laureli picked up the pace, taking Massana's and Shiralee's arms, striding ahead while Princess slowed down, leaving Evadne, Lakshmi and Danielle somewhere in the middle. They were approaching an intersection in the companionways, and Princess took a deep breath.  
  
The first two guards turned the corner. Laureli and her companions followed. Once she was certain that there was no line of sight between her and the remainder of the party, Princess stumbled and lost a shoe. The two guards at the rear were almost on top of her. One had even begun to reach down to help her when she struck.  
  
The Spectrans clearly weren't expecting resistance from their captives. Princess took out the first one with a single chop to the throat, crushing his larynx, then slammed the heel of her hand into the second guard's nose, breaking the nasal bone and driving it back up into his brain. Princess caught the rifle as the man folded, dead before he hit the floor.  
  
Princess retrieved her shoe, shoved her foot into it and ran. She rounded the corner at full speed, cerebonics kicking in again with a surge of adrenaline as she shot past the other women. She overtook Laureli and as the two remaining guards turned at the sound of her running feet, she opened fire.  
  
Two bodies slumped on the floor.  
  
Evadne Winters looked like she was drawing breath to scream and Princess glared at her. "Don't even think about it," she warned.  
  
Lakshmi, more compassionate, grabbed Evadne by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Pull yourself together, 'Vad," she exhorted. "We have to be united in this if we're going to get out alive, d'you hear me?"  
  
The Science Director's wife nodded and trembled.  
  
"Stick together," Danielle MacNamara said, and took hold of Lakshmi's hand.  
  
"Come on," Princess urged. "We have to move!"  
  
"Miss Anderson is correct," Laureli said, eyeing Princess nervously as she did so. "Everyone together, now, nice and close! That's it. There's no time to lose!"  
  
Princess hustled the six women down the companionway and found a storage room. It was a close fit, but she felt that she could take a moment to breathe.   
"Okay," she said. "I guess we've all done the usual twelve months' Federal Service at least, so I hope you all know how to handle a weapon. If anyone doesn't, now would be a good time to say so."  
  
"I did three years' Federal Service in the Army," Danielle said. Her tears had dried and she seemed to be pulling herself together. "It was a long time ago, but I can handle a gun. I only ever went on training exercises, though. I've never actually shot anyone."  
  
"Let's hope it stays that way," Princess said. "Anyone else?"  
  
"I did my Federal Service with G-Sec," Evadne said, "but I was never active. I was a systems engineer until I married Ian. I know one end of a gun from the other, but... to be honest, they scare me."  
  
"I have used a gun," Massana Irazi looked at the rest of the group. "I was required to defend myself and my family as we were evacuated from Riga. I am not afraid to do it again."  
  
"I learned to shoot when I did my year's Service with the Space Patrol," Laureli said, "but I was younger than you are now, and that's a long time ago."  
  
"Air Force," Lakshmi said, "but like Laureli said, it was a long time ago."  
  
"I used to be a cop," Shiralee said. "I don't have much experience with rifles, but I'm good with a handgun."  
  
"And you," Laureli said carefully, "seem to know what you're doing."  
  
Princess met the First Lady's stare head on. "Yes, I do," she said. "We're going to make our way to the escape pods, and there's one thing I'd like you to keep in mind: if I tell you to do something, like duck, for instance, it'd be a really good idea for you to take me seriously."  
  
Laureli squared her shoulders. "Are you who I think you are, Miss Anderson?"  
  
Princess didn't look away. "That depends entirely on who you think I am, ma'am," she said.  
  
Laureli tried to keep the relief she felt from showing. "Well, then," she said, "I'm sure we're all quite happy to bow to your expertise when it comes to military matters."  
  
"Thank you, ma'am. We'd best move out, now." Princess opened the hatch just enough to see into the companionway. "Looks like it's clear. Come on." She led them out of the storage compartment. "According to the signage, we need to go this way."


	6. NOTHING TO PROVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess makes progress.

_Be careful,_ Tom O'Malley had said.  
  
_I'm always careful,_ she reminded herself. It was true, Princess mused: she was always careful. Even when she'd lost her G-Force shoe, she was still careful. She had entered the contest Zoltar had set up as bait with the express purpose of getting the shoe back. She had decided not to tell any of the others what she was up to, and she was prepared to concede that this may have qualified as an act of recklessness, but she'd had a plan to redeem herself and it had paid off. When it was all over, everyone had been furious. Everyone except Jason. He'd held his silence until after the debriefing, after Mark had finished venting (and this, more than anything else, made Princess feel it had all been worthwhile -- he wouldn't have been so angry if he didn't care!) and finally, they were alone.  
  
"I've got something to say to you," Jason had said, his mouth turning up at the corners, eyes dancing.  
  
"I guess you've waited in line long enough," Princess had retorted.  
  
He walked over to her and cupped her chin in one hand, gazing into her eyes. " _I'm_ the lone wolf around here," he told her, grinning. "Union rules. You're the sensible one who always comes through in a crisis, remember? I get into trouble, you get me out of it. Demarcation, got it?"  
  
Princess couldn't help but grin back at him. "What if I want a career change?"  
  
"I work alone, shweetheart," he said, doing his best Bogart impression, "but if you wanna tag along for the ride..."  
  
Princess stepped away from him and adopted a suitably melodramatic pose. " _We'll always have Paris_ ," she quoted, from one of his favourite old movies.  
  
"We've never been to Paris," he pointed out in his normal voice.  
  
"Well, then, maybe you'd better remedy that, shweetheart!" Princess had teased, and headed back to her quarters to pack her bag and catch the next shuttle home.  
  
Jason had done the next best thing: he'd turned up at her apartment the next morning with take-out croissants. "Seriously," he said, "what made you do it?"  
  
"Guess I had something to prove," she said.  
  
"You don't have to prove anything to Anderson," Jason told her, frowning.  
  
"To myself," Princess corrected. "And, I suppose, to him, too. Even if he's mad at me, I did what I set out to do."  
  
"Just promise me," Jason said, "that any time you feel you have something to prove, it's to yourself and nobody else."  
  
"Is that how you operate, Jase?" she challenged softly.  
  
He smiled, a quick twist of his mouth. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think you're right," she evaded.  
  
_Do I have anything to prove?_ Princess wondered, making her way along a companionway aboard Zoltar's Firedrake ship. Her hands cradled the stock of the stolen Spectran assault rifle. For now, it was her weapon of choice, since the yo-yo would give away her identity as sure as a neon sign on her head reading, 'SHOOT ME: I'M G-3!' _Nothing to prove_ , she decided, _but everything to lose._ Chief Anderson had been forced to place his trust in her. The six women with her were all obliged to trust her. Even the President had no choice but to trust her. _It's up to me, now, and I've got nothing to prove_.  
  
_Without your complete uniform, you can't transmute. That makes you useless to G Force,_ the Chief had said. It hurt then, and it hurt now.  
  
_Focus, girl,_ Princess told herself. _Here. Now._  
  
She needed to find a computer terminal and access the Firedrake's systems. She had no chance of success if she didn't do something about the communications and the security system aboard the Firedrake. Zoltar's men would track the women down and put them back in their cell. At the very least. The survivors, anyway.  
  
Princess had a plan, and it was one that required swift execution. There would be scanners monitoring her little group of fugitives even as they made their way through the ship. She needed to find one of the small subsidiary damage control centres and hijack it.  
  
She knew from bitter experience that one of the strengths of Spectran ships was the way they were equipped with redundant control centres which allowed them to continue operating even when they sustained massive damage from ISO conventional forces. It gave them a ferocious reputation. To bring a Spectran attack ship down, an opponent had to bring the _whole unit_ down. They had no tiny points of vulnerability. Anyone could whip the living daylights out of any given section and its crew would simply compensate using the redundant systems so that the machine kept coming like some unstoppable monster out of a horror movie. Galaxy Security, however, had developed a silver bullet: G-Force.  
  
This time, Princess knew, the silver bullet was her. For now, anyway.  
  
Another feature of Spectran ships was that they were especially good about signage. All the big attack ships were built to different designs. Princess couldn't remember ever having faced any two the same, and that meant Zoltar had to either train his crews for months on each ship, which even he couldn't afford to do, or he made sure everything was labelled and signposted, otherwise nobody knew whether they were going to the missile control room or the heads.  
  
Princess could hear footsteps approaching with that regular, military cadence that only marching feet could achieve. Her mouth went dry as she motioned for the others to flatten themselves against a wall. She ran toward the sound and stopped at the corner where it was echoing. She checked the rifle and felt her fingers tighten around the trigger. She didn't usually fight with a gun, but Mark encouraged all of his team to practice with each other's weapons and with conventional weapons as well, just in case they ever had to. Chief Anderson always told them that a weapon was anything you could use. Just because a potted geranium lacked style, he said, was no reason not to brain an opponent with it, if it happened to be handy. Of course, Jason simply had to say that he couldn't think of any other argument to support the existence of potted geraniums. The really memorable part, Princess recalled, was that the Chief had agreed with him. It wasn't something that happened a lot.  
  
Spectran soldiers wore headgear that included a half mask. It gave them a menacing, slightly feline appearance. It made it impossible to connect with them from a distance, to appeal to their humanity. It was a psychological tactic that worked well against a defenceless populace or unwilling, nervous infantry.  
  
It also limited their peripheral vision.  
  
Which helped when Princess came out fighting.  
  
She knew she would have to rely on speed and surprise, so she ploughed directly into the middle of the squad of twelve, using the rifle like a staff, striking at their throats to drop them. The confusion bought her a valuable second and then there were eight.  
  
She grabbed one in a headlock and turned him so that he took a series of bullets meant for her, then whirled and kicked to break the knee of a man behind her.  
  
Then there were six.  
  
She leaped high to avoid more shots and fired the borrowed rifle as she landed.  
  
Princess wasn't quite as good with a gun as Jason was, but she was still a very good shot.  
  
Then there were five. She landed, dropped, rolled and fired repeatedly.  
  
_Two_.  
  
She kept moving and felt a bullet catch the flaring fabric of her skirt as she spun out of the line of fire. She fired again.  
  
_One_.  
  
Jump. Twist. Fire. Miss. Land. Jump again. She was right in front of the last soldier, moving so fast he was only just bringing his weapon to bear and she turned her own rifle to smash his face in with the butt. She spun it again and fired into his chest.  
  
_None_.  
  
She could smell blood. Blood and gun shot residue. It was spattered all over her dress.  
  
Her lovely new dress. She sighed.  
  
Princess gathered up two of the fallen assault rifles, set the safety catches and fled back down the companionway, eager to put as much distance between herself and the slaughter as she could.  
  
  
  
"What the hell are they teaching G-Sec interns these days?" Shiralee Adams asked shakily as Princess returned.  
  
"There's blood on you!" Evadne Winters gasped.  
  
"I think it might be best if we saved this discussion for another time," Laureli pointed out.  
  
"Shiralee has a point," Massana Irazi said. "Miss Anderson displays neither the demeanour nor the... expected level of competence that I would normally associate with one so young."  
  
"We don't have time for this," Princess said.  
  
"And it's classified," Laureli said. "I'm sorry, girls, but we really _don't_ have time for this. I trust Princess and I hope you trust me. We have to stay together and rely on each other if we're going to survive. Princess has obviously had special training. My guess is that she's following in her father's footsteps, and I'll remind you all that her father spent time in the field before he became Chief of Security, so let's all save our questions and do as she says."  
  
"I guess," Shiralee said. "I'm just having some trouble getting my head around the idea of following orders from someone young enough to be my daughter."  
  
"It would appear that children grow up fast, these days," Massana said.  
  
"Can we move, now, please?" Princess said. The longer they stayed in one place, the more likely it was that they'd be recaptured.  
  
"Ready when you are," Lakshmi said.  
  
  
  
Heavy duty bulkheads indicated that the little group of fugitives had come to the boundary between two sections of the Firedrake. This was good, Princess decided. It meant that she would hopefully find a control centre soon, and once she hacked into the Firedrake's systems, she would be able to exploit Zoltar's greatest weakness: his ships were always vulnerable from the inside.  
  
When Princess found the control room, there was only one technician manning it. This time, she used her yo-yo, knocking the man unconscious before he could make a sound. She dragged her victim into a corner and quickly looted his pockets for keys and pass cards. There was tape in one of the equipment lockers and she used it to bind him before locking him inside the electrical switchboard cupboard. She hated the smell of death that still clung to her in the close quarters of the small room, but she pushed it out of her mind as she hauled her fellow escapees inside, locked the hatch and sat down at the computer terminal so recently and forcibly vacated by its previous occupant.  
  
If Princess simply disabled the security systems, technicians in any of the other control rooms would bring them back on line. What she needed to do was to fool the system. The terminal was still logged on, and she started working her way through security levels. It was a relatively simple plan to come up with, slightly more complex to execute: tell the system that the feed originating in one area was coming from another. Princess found her location in the system and started hacking. As the escapees left one zone, it would -- if she got it right -- appear to vanish from the system. They would then reappear in an adjacent area, then began making it look as though they were headed off at right angles to their actual direction. It would buy them valuable time.  
  
Princess stared at the seven women crowded into the tiny room with her: the First Lady of the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets, the wife of Galaxy Security's Science Director, the Rigan Ambassador's wife, the partner of of the Army Chief of Staff, the Secretary of Trade's fiancée and the Lady Mayoress of Center City. What an unlikely band of desperados! Laureli Kane's forté was giving orders and having them obeyed. Somehow, Princess didn't see the Spectrans paying a lot of attention. Mrs Winters had so far demonstrated an ability to weep a lot. Massana Irazi was a tough old bird. She'd survived the fall of Riga, and was as mad as hell about the whole business. Lakshmi Basranathan seemed level headed enough, but Princess doubted she'd be much use in a fight. Shiralee Adams and Danielle MacNamara seemed to know one end of a gun from the other. All in all, they needed all the help they could get.  
  
What they had was Princess.  
  
The next job was to find and deactivate the system that was blocking communications. Princess hacked further in to the security system and raised the clearances on the pass card she had taken from the man whose log-in she was using.  
  
She felt strange to be hacking into a Spectran computer system without seeing the screen through the gold tint of her G-Force visor. She felt strange not to have Mark looking over her shoulder and telling her to hurry, or Keyop, hopping from one foot to the other and keeping an eye out for soldiers.  
  
Surrounded by the flower of Federation high society, Princess felt very much alone.  
  
At the same time she felt an almost surreal sense of elation: she was handling this, and she was doing it by herself, without her G-Force gear.  
  
_Don't get cocky_ , her sense of self preservation warned, _you're not out of the woods, yet. You're not even close._  
  
Princess located the hardware for the jamming device and memorised the route she meant to take along with the log-in details she would need to access the network again. The security system was by now quite thoroughly bamboozled, and she hoped the hack would hold. There was a tool belt lying on a work bench and she slung it around her waist, anticipating a need for it.  
  
A thought occurred to her, and she decided to risk accessing another part of the computer network. She worked quickly, found the information she wanted, then logged out. It was time to go.  
  
Princess unlocked the hatch then eased it open a crack. She checked that there was nobody outside and slipped into the companionway. No sound indicated that anyone was approaching, so she leaned back into the control room and spoke. "I want everyone to turn their palm units _off_. No exceptions. I'm going to try and bring the jamming signal down and if those units start beeping, we could be found."  
  
"I'll see to it," Laureli assured her."  
  
"Thanks, ma'am. Everybody wait here until I get back," she told the others. She secured the door behind her and set off again.  
  
The equipment duct Princess sought wasn't far away. The stolen pass card deactivated the lock and she was in.  
  
What she needed was right where she expected it to be: a repeater unit powerful enough to transmit a signal that would block all other communications in or out of our immediate area. Knocking it out, according to the schema she had called up from the computer network, would also cripple short to medium range radio communication for the ship's crew. In other words, it would cause problems.  
  
Using the yo-yo for this purpose was not the preferred option: it would cause a bigger explosion than Princess really wanted, and it was a trademark. Anyone finding the remains of the outer casing after the detonation would know it for what it was, and Princess wanted to keep the Spectrans guessing. By now they would suspect that she was an operative of one of the five Earth-based ISO agencies, but she didn't want them confirming her identity. She couldn't afford that.  
  
Simply removing components was too easy to rectify. She needed to inflict damage.  
  
The tool belt had most of what she needed. Princess removed the cover and surveyed the interior of the repeater unit. It was fairly standard: dual redundant power, back up cards and plenty of insulation.  
  
_Insulate against this..._  
  
Princess switched off the power and started pulling cards. When the slots were exposed, she stepped down a rung on the ladder so that any ricochets or flying shrapnel wouldn't hit her in the face, pointed the muzzle of the pistol into the frame and stared firing. When she peeked inside, she smiled. Nothing would plug and play in there again. She switched the power back on and there was a sharp crackle and an acrid smell as the motherboard quietly fried itself.  
  
She left the tool belt in the ruined control box, put the service pistol back in her pocket and started to climb. There was an intersecting horizontal duct and she took it. She tapped at her communicator. "Zark, are you reading me?"  
  
" _Princess! Thank goodness --_ "  
  
"Zero in on my position and relay it to G-Force. Tell them to maintain radio silence with me until I call."  
  
_"Big ten."_  
  
Princess made a cautious return to the little control room. The women were waiting as instructed, their expressions expectant and hopeful.  
  
"How did it go?" Laureli asked  
  
"So far, so good," Princess said. "When I hacked the computer network I checked the crew levels. This ship is almost completely automated with only a couple of dozen armed troops in addition to a small crew complement. I've taken down the jamming device and I've messed up their security systems. G-Force are on their way and we need to be ready to fly. We need to go down one more level and keep moving about fifty yards or so to reach the lifeboats."  
  
"Then we leave?" Evadne asked.  
  
"Then we wait," Princess corrected. "Once G-Force engages the ship, we can escape. If we try to leave before the _Phoenix_ gets here, they'll simply knock us straight out of the sky. If Zoltar's distracted, we've got a chance."  
  
"Then lead the way," Laureli said.


	7. EXTREMITY DIRE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Send a woman to do any job you like.

Their progress had been slow and continued to be slow. The women paused at every intersection, fearful of discovery, while Princess checked for crew members, but there was surprisingly little movement of personnel.  
  
On reflection, Laureli wasn't exactly sure why she found this surprising. She had never been aboard a Spectran attack ship before, so she had no idea whether what she was seeing -- and not seeing -- was normal. Somehow, she had anticipated more activity. She was profoundly grateful that there wasn't.  
  
The group halted as they felt the Firedrake start to move. They had been following the _Run Away conditional Extremity Dire_ signs and Princess told them she was hopeful of reaching the escape pods soon.  
  
"Zoltar must be making good on his threat to attack Center City," Laureli speculated. "We'd better hurry."  
  
They rounded the next corner -- straight into a group of four Spectrans, who froze at the sight of seven dishevelled and desperate Earth women carrying captured assault weapons.  
  
The women's luck had run out.  
  
But so had the Spectrans'.  
  
Princess opened fire. The alien automatic rifle mowed the men down like wheat before they could draw their sidearms. Laureli thought she saw Princess gag slightly at the smell of blood and let herself be herded past the bodies at a trot. They were running out of time. They had to hurry.  
  
The women stayed closer together, now. The close call had them all genuinely frightened. Even Princess looked worried, if the pallor of her face and the strained, drawn expression were anything to go by. The smell of blood and death seemed to linger, even though they were well away from the scene of the brief, one-sided fire fight by now. Laureli made a mental note: survive today, then take a refresher course in the practical application of firearms. The feelings of dependency and helplessness in which her mind was currently awash made her angry.  
  
The women entered a companionway on the next level down, then ran -- into a pair of soldiers, who, like their comrades, apparently didn't expect the helpless females to be capable of aggression. Their surprise delayed their reactions by a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second was all Princess needed to squeeze the trigger on her stolen rifle, however. The men sprawled broken and oozing against a bulkhead.  
  
The dead Spectrans had been guarding the escape pods. Princess took a deep breath of relief.  
  
A claxon sounded, and a voice announced, " _GIARA IPNOH! GIARA IPNOH!_ "  
  
"What's that?" Lakshmi cried in alarm.  
  
"Battle stations," Massana translated.  
  
"We can deal with this," Laureli declared. "Stick together, girls."  
  
"I can't believe this is happening," Evadne said.  
  
"Believe it," Massana told her. "It is real, and it is not over yet."  
  
The women waited while Princess approached the closest pod. There was nobody in the companionway, presumably because the entire crew was busy answering the call to battle stations, but Danielle MacNamara remained on guard, alert for anyone who might see them.  
  
"PHAGAHNA!" ( _Attention_ ) read the sign over the escape pod access hatch. "Ywin kaga pnoh inivanalo, a' rikano ye akazol tragelo ba." ( _Open strictly conditional extremity dire, hatch alarm loud noise make conditional actuated_.)  
  
While Princess did -- to her mind -- indeed have an extremity dire, she didn't want to trigger an alarm loud noise that might attract the attention of her Spectran captors. Particularly Zoltar, who might be capable of adding two and two to come up with G-3. The other complication was the pod also had a complicated locking mechanism that required the entry of a code.  
  
Princess crossed the corridor to where her fellow escapees were waiting.  
  
"There's a little problem," she told them, and indicated the panel. "We can't access the pods until I can break the code."  
  
"We can't just stay here out in the open," Laureli said, and the women grabbed at each other for support as the floor tilted.  
  
The Firedrake was manoeuvring.  
  
"They must be going to engage the _Phoenix_ ," Princess said.  
  
"This is a good thing, right?" Shiralee asked.  
  
"Ah, well," Princess hedged, "it has its positive aspects."  
  
All the lighting went red and Evadne shrieked. Lakshmi clapped a hand over Evadne's mouth and said something in her ear that turned the panicking woman even paler than before.  
  
A hatchway opened. Princess and ran toward it, keeping the hatch between herself and whoever was on the other side. A soldier stepped out.  
  
_"Ih, pnehu gi ya huro?"_ (What noise is that?)  
  
"Sorry," Princess said, and fired a single shot. He fell back into the room.  
  
Princess leapt over the body through the hatch to find herself in some kind of control room. She pointed the business end of the rifle at the other occupant who appeared to be a technician.  
  
The lone technician slowly stretched careful fingers toward his control console.  
  
Princess squeezed the trigger and the force of the shot jerked the man backward in his chair, blood spraying from the entry wound in his chest onto the console and screen. Princess allowed herself time for a deep breath, then called for the women to join her.  
  
"Oh," said Danielle, who had been the first to follow Princess into the room. She stared at the body.  
  
"Try not to look at him," Princess said. "I'll move him out of the way."  
  
Lakshmi pulled the hatch shut, behind them, which had the dual effects of making the tiny room seem extremely crowded and closing them in with the smell.  
  
Laureli, ever practical, found the tiny equipment duct and opened the door so that Princess could stow the body of the dead Spectran. "This really is a learning experience," the First Lady muttered under her breath.  
  
The wives of some of the most powerful men in the Federation managed to maintain a stoic front, largely by pretending that none of this was actually happening, until Evadne Winters sat down at the control console and started studying the layout.  
  
"This is interesting," Evadne said.  
  
Princess gaped at her. Evadne Winters wasn't screaming. She wasn't crying. She wasn't panicking. She was frowning thoughtfully at the computer screens.  
  
"What's interesting, exactly?" Princess asked.  
  
"All of this," Evadne said. "It was a long time ago, but I used to work for G-Sec analysing alien systems. This room is a maintenance and damage control area." She worked a few controls. "Here... Let me see if I can figure out these commands..." The screen lit up with a schematic of the Firedrake.  
  
"I'm impressed," Lakshmi remarked.  
  
"I haven't found the good part, yet," Evadne said. "Wait a minute... here." A bank of screens above their heads flickered into life with video and tactical information.  
  
One of them took its video feed from a camera focussed on a very large, very businesslike blue and red ship.  
  
"It's the cavalry!" Laureli exclaimed.  
  
"In case you had forgotten," Massana said sharply, "they are coming to shoot us down. They are not our salvation but our death."  
  
"No, ma'am," Princess said. "That was a bluff."  
  
"How do you know this?" Massana demanded.  
  
"Chief Anderson used a code word," Princess said. "He has no intention of letting us die."  
  
"A code word?" Laureli probed.  
  
"Sorry, Mrs Kane. It's classified," Princess said in her best official voice. Anderson's use of a diminutive for Princess had been his way of telling her that he was lying through his teeth. (Besides which, she reasoned, Security Chief Anderson apologising for anything at all had to ring alarm bells with anyone who knew him, code word or no code word.) And on the subject of alarms... "Let's see if I can bring up the escape pod release codes from here." Princess sat down at another console and began accessing the ship's safety systems. "Here's the alarm bypass... and here's the hatch release command. If I'm right, that pod should be unlocked, now. As long as nobody notices the system changes, we should be good for go."  
  
"Look at these power readings," Evadne murmured. "They must be charging up the weapons!"  
  
"Any chance for a little sabotage?" Laureli wondered aloud.  
  
"We might get caught," Evadne cautioned, fear glimmering in her eyes.  
  
"We might not," Princess said, and got to work.  
  
They all reached out toward walls and furniture for support as the ship moved again. The system schematic showed that the Firedrake was coiling to strike. The would be escapees stared in appalled yet rapt fascination at the screens overhead, watching as the _Phoenix_ engaged the Firedrake.


	8. SLAYING THE DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls are back in town.

Princess made to smooth her skirt. She stopped abruptly as she realised just how much blood had been spattered on the fine material. It seemed a lifetime ago that she'd taken it off the rack in the store.  
  
"You know what?" she announced. "I can do some serious damage in here!" She began tapping at her keyboard. "Is everybody okay?" she asked, almost as an afterthought, her focus engaged on the task at hand.  
  
"Everybody except the enemy," Laureli declared.  
  
"Works for me," Princess murmured. She speed read a number of screens. "Oh, wow, this ship is one giant..."  
  
A plume of fire erupted from the Firedrake's jaws, engulfing the _Phoenix_ in flame.  
  
Impossibly, the G-Force ship seemed to catch fire and fall. Princess uttered a small cry of dismay. "Plasma!" Princess tapped frantically at her screens, then spoke urgently into her communicator. "Tiny, it's Princess. Go to _Fiery Phoenix_! It's your only chance!"  
  
_"What?"_ There was a mix of strain and doubt in Tiny's voice. " _If we try to transmute like this, we could melt the hull!_ "  
  
_"I'm willing to bet that she's giving us good advice,"_ Mark's voice said. _"Do it, Tiny! Before the controls lock up!"_  
  
The _Phoenix_ , still trailing flame, shuddered, banked and seemed to dissolve. Laureli had heard that the _Phoenix_ had a secret weapon and there were vague rumours that its use exacted a terrible toll on its five young operators. She stared in silent awe at the firebird filling the screens. Alarms shrilled from the consoles as the _Phoenix_ passed a shade too close to the Firedrake, sending the temperature indicators into the yellow. The _Phoenix_ swooped away and climbed. As she did so, the impossible bird shape shrank into itself and resumed the familiar blue and red form just before disappearing into a cloud bank.  
  
Nobody breathed.  
  
"Commander?" Princess asked. "Are you okay?"  
  
_"It was close, Princess,"_ Mark replied. _"We were redlining for a minute, there. There's some damage to the missile firing mechanism. You were right: using the_ Fiery Phoenix _effect burned off the Firedrake's plasma. Outside skin temperatures are back to normal. The fun part's going to be using the manual override to open the missile bay doors."_  
  
"Mark, this whole ship is a plasma cannon," Princess said.  
  
_"Yeah,"_ Jason observed, _"we kinda noticed."_  
  
"Give the man a cigar. What saved you is that the directed plasma from the cannon is cooler than the plasma produced by the _Fiery Phoenix_. I'm going to try and put a spanner in the works over here."  
  
_"What about the women?"_ Jason asked.  
  
"Trust me, Jason," Princess said, "they're doing just fine on their own. Out."  
  
Princess resumed her tapping at the keyboard. Laureli watched her, this winsome, blood-spattered child with her limpid green eyes and the grim set to her mouth. She shouldn't have been here. She should have been in school, somewhere, her biggest worries in life her next exam and whether or not some nice-looking boy was going to ask her out. Instead, she was sitting here on a Spectran ship in her pretty new frock, working out how to save the world.  
  
"So, uh," Lakshmi said, "you're G-3 in your spare time, huh?"  
  
"Everybody needs a hobby," Princess quipped, "and I can't knit."  
  
"You know, suddenly I feel a lot better about this," Shiralee said.  
  
"I take it you have a plan?" Madame Irazi prompted.  
  
"Stage One," Princess expounded, starting to enjoy herself, "I bypass the alarm on that escape pod and hack the code. Almost done... there." She smiled with the satisfaction of a job well done. "Stage Two, I figure out a way to give Zoltar's nasty little pet a bad case of indigestion." She returned her attention to the console.  
  
"Um, I don't want to be pushy," Danielle ventured, "but the part where we escape...?"  
  
"We wait," Laureli told her, "until Princess has worked her magic with the Firedrake's systems, otherwise, if we jettison the pod too soon, they might just shoot us down. Timing is everything, am I right?"  
  
"You sure are, ma'am," Princess told her.  
  
On the screens above, the _Phoenix_ broke free of cloud and started another attack run. They fired a volley of small rockets and the women braced themselves as the Firedrake shuddered and lurched around us. A claxon sounded and one of the empty consoles began to light up.  
  
"What are they doing?" Evadne asked shakily.  
  
"Making it look good while G-1 works the manual hydraulic pump for the missile bay doors," Princess said without pausing in her work.  
  
Power level readouts began to climb again, and the Firedrake drew its mechanical head back like a spitting cobra.  
  
Princess tapped her communicator.  
  
As the plasma weapon fired, the _Phoenix_ dropped one wing and spiralled clear, vanishing from the Firedrake's screens.  
  
_"Wish you were here, Princess,"_ Mark's voice said ruefully over Princess' communicator.  
  
"I'll just bet," she shot back. "Maybe you'll appreciate me a little more from here on in," she predicted wryly. Princess worked the console, observed by her nervous audience. "If I can override this safety cutoff, I could make it choke on its own plasma," she muttered. "Rats. There are too many redundancies in this thing!"  
  
"What about this?" Evadne asked, bringing up another screen that was largely incomprehensible to the other women, but which appeared to delight Princess.  
  
"That could do it!" Princess exclaimed. "You disable that valve at the exact same moment I shut down the release vent."  
  
"Right."  
  
"On my mark," Princess told her. "Three... two... one... NOW."  
  
Alarms shrilled from all the workstations.  
  
Princess leapt to her feet. "When they try to fire, it's going to add a whole new meaning to the concept of reflux," she said grimly, herding her companions toward the hatch. "Trash the consoles," she ordered. Shiralee Adams and Danielle MacNamara raised their rifles and sent a barrage of bullets into the equipment. "Come on!" Princess urged. The red light from the companionway spilled into the room like blood.  
  
The women made a dash for the open escape pod and scrambled aboard. Massana Irazi secured the hatch while Princess took the command position and everyone hurried to strap themselves in to their seats. Princess activated her communicator.  
  
"We're in position, Commander," she announced. "You are go to attack, I repeat, you are go to attack!"  
  
_"Big ten,"_ Mark told her. _"We've got the missile bay doors open. Now we teach Zoltar a lesson in manners! Stand by to launch on my signal, Princess."_  
  
The escape pod gave Princess the impression that it was a remarkably sturdy little vehicle. The controls made it clear that they were designed for limited space flight and would survive a splashdown in the ocean if necessary.  
  
Princess surmised that given the propensity of a certain squad of five youngsters for blasting enemy ships out of the sky, the Spectrans had become adept at building damned fine escape pods.  
  
At least, she hoped quite fervently that this was the case.  
  
Princess activated the pod's systems, running through the alien pre-flight.  
  
"Anyone else here got a pilot's license?" she asked.  
  
"I can fly," Massana said.  
  
"You're my co-pilot," Princess told her. "Have a seat."  
  
The Rigan woman moved into the right hand seat. "It is a pity," she said, "that this vessel is not armed."  
  
"It'd be nice," Princess agreed, "but we don't have time to send it back for a refit."  
  
Everyone jumped at a loud _CLANG_! on the hatchway door.  
  
"They're onto us!" Laureli exclaimed.  
  
There was another _CLANG_! Then another, followed by a flurry of blows.  
  
"Mark," Princess said into her communicator, "we have company. We're leaving. Now."  
  
_"Roger,"_ Mark replied. _"We're about to start our run."_  
  
Princess fired the thrusters and the pod shuddered, the engines starting up a low moan which rose to a whine and then a shriek. With a resounding detonation, the pod launched and inertia smacked its passengers back into the seat padding to hang on for dear life.  
  
Laureli swallowed bile as the pod rolled and levelled out. Behind them, there was a thunderous boom and a shock wave kicked the escape craft nose down and forward. Someone -- Laureli couldn't tell who -- shrieked once, then subsided. Princess and Massana worked to stabilise pitch and returned the little ship to straight and level flight.  
  
Princess turned the pod in a slow, lazy bank and the women craned their necks to see out of the view ports. The Firedrake's head was ablaze with its own plasma, and as they watched, a large missile streaked free of the _Phoenix_ and struck the burning vessel amidships.  
  
Escape pods began to burst free of the stricken ship. Another missile hit home. As its systems failed, the Firedrake lost its anti-gravity capability and began to fall with slow, terrible grace toward the waiting sea.  
  
"Where are we?" Laureli thought to ask.  
  
Princess consulted the navigational readout. "We're over the Pacific," she said, "about thirty five nautical miles north west of Center City." She opened a comm channel. The interior of the _Phoenix_ appeared on screen, and four grinning faces under distinctive birdlike helmets clustered together in the frame.  
  
_"Ladies,"_ Mark said. _"May we escort you home?"_  
  
"You should be so lucky," Princess parried with a smile. "Tell the Chief we're all fine, and we'll be home soon."  
  
_"Yes, ma'am!"_ Jason said. _"See you back home."_  
  
"I have plotted a heading for Center City," Massana said.  
  
"Best news I've had all day," Princess said, and brought the thrusters up to full power.  
  
  
  
There was a crowd waiting when the stolen escape pod landed at Seahorse Base. It seemed to be made up of family members, security details, base personnel and one of the biggest media contingents Princess had seen in a while.  
  
Laureli Kane expressed outrage at one particular aspect of what she saw. "Is that an ambulance?" she demanded. "And... _gurneys_?" She squared her shoulders and tossed her head. "If they're expecting any of us to collapse in a heap, they're sorely mistaken! Ready, girls?"  
  
Once again, the rag tag little group composed itself. They'd been drugged, kidnapped, terrorised and traumatised, but they pulled themselves together, straightened their designer jackets, patted their expensively coiffed hair back into place and got ready to face the world. Princess watched them in a kind of stunned disbelief mingled with a budding respect.  
  
They crossed the tarmac, heads up, shoulders squared, backs straight, like a finishing school class. The First Lady angled away from the others to join her husband. Princess saw the President take his wife's hand and caught a glimpse of the mix of pride and relief in his eyes. She felt a surge of gratitude toward Laureli Kane as the media focussed on the First couple and left the rest of the escapees alone to enter the medical wing.  
  
The women were met inside by medical staff who guided them into a triage area. Someone gently took Princess' arm. "This way, please, Miss Anderson," said a familiar voice, and Princess looked around to see Colonel Jones.  
  
"Of course," Princess said, and kept up appearances by allowing herself to be led down a corridor.  
  
Security Chief Anderson was standing outside a door. He opened it and ushered Princess into a large conference room.  
  
Princess' focus narrowed swiftly as Mark strode toward her, cape wings billowing from his shoulders. She broke into a run and his smile, with an echo of that same mix of pride and relief, filled her vision as he scooped her up in his arms. Laughter bubbled up from inside her as he swung her around and set her down in the middle of the team, who gathered her up into one of the biggest hugs of her life.  
  
When she could breathe again, she found herself staring into blue eyes made all the more intense by Mark's visor. Her heart skipped and she reeled, dizzy and elated.  
  
"You really showed Zoltar a thing or two, Princess," Mark told her.  
  
Princess couldn't help but smile. "I had help," she reminded him.  
  
Chief Anderson gave them a bare minute before calling them to order and having them take their seats around the oval-shaped conference table. Princess thought he looked tired and drained. No doubt dealing with a frantic President and other senior officials whose wives had been kidnapped had taken its toll. Knowing how he hated having to deal with people who were distressed and emotional, Princess almost felt sorry for him.  
  
Almost.  
  
Chief Anderson opened the debriefing with a bald recap of the details of the abduction, then simply handed over to Princess to give her account of events. For a moment, she sat with her mouth open, then Jason nodded to her. Princess' heart gave a thump as she realised that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to speak.  
  
Very slowly, realisation dawned: she could do this. She'd just taken on Zoltar and won. She could handle this debriefing, too.  
  
Princess took a deep breath and began: "Zoltar made several critical errors..."  
  
  
  
Princess finished speaking and leaned back in her chair, aware that she was shaking slightly.  
  
"There was a time," Anderson said, his voice quiet but very clear, "when I accused you of being... less than effective without your G-Force equipment." Princess stared at him. "Today you proved me wrong." She saw approval in his eyes and felt a slow flush of heat working its way up her neck. "Today you showed all of us that you're capable of taking your training and your abilities and integrating that into something special, something greater than the sum of the component parts. I'm proud of you," he said, "but not nearly as proud as you should be of yourself."  
  
By now, Princess was blushing furiously. "I... I don't know what to say," she stammered.  
  
"Mark," Anderson said, "your mission report?"  
  
"Oh. Right." Mark cleared his throat and started to recount what the rest of the team had been doing while Princess had been otherwise engaged. While he spoke, Princess' face slowly cooled off. Why, she asked silently, did she have to be the kind of girl who blushed?  
  
  
  
After the briefing, the team transmuted back into their civilian clothing. Keyop and Tiny declared their intention to head out in search of a vending machine. Anderson left without saying anything and Jason announced that he was going to look for a decent cup of coffee. Mark had walked over to the room's single window and was standing, Anderson-like, staring out through the glass at the tiny ornamental garden outside. He took note of Princess' reflection in the glass and turned.  
  
"Hey," he said. Princess stopped and studied his face. The worry and the relief still showed in his eyes. "You okay?" he asked.  
  
She smiled. "I'm fine."  
  
"Ready to go home?" he asked.  
  
"I hope Jason can give us a ride," Princess said. "I'm not exactly dressed for the bike." She looked down at the ruin of her dress. It was besmirched with blood, dirt and gunshot residue, and even if the cleaners could have dealt with that, there was a bullet hole in the skirt. A five hundred and ninety eight dollar wreck, and she'd only worn it once. "Look at this," she said. "I think I'm going to cry."  
  
Mark's face registered alarm. "Y-you're going to cry?"  
  
Princess couldn't help but laugh. "I was speaking figuratively," she assured him, then it occurred to her that it might not be such a bad idea. "If I did cry," she ventured shyly, "would you comfort me?"  
  
"Um..." Mark said.  
  
Princess shook her head, smiling. "Take me home, please," she said in lieu of an attempt at explanation.  
  
One day, he'd get it, and when he did, she'd be waiting.

 

_fin._


End file.
